Moran's Tale
by Psyromayniak
Summary: Set in an AU where Moriarty reigns supreme. Sebastian Moran describes his reasoning for his actions against Moriarty. First person. Moran's perspective on 'Discordant Supremacy' with added backstory ! Warnings: Implied MorMor, bloody violence, swearing


I am _ex_-colonel Sebastian Moran. I am thirty-four, and – until recently – the second most dangerous man in London... This, I suppose, would be my _confession_.

I was with him from the very beginning, you know; my Boss. Nearly seven years... He picked me up after I was thrown out of the military – apparently killing the officer who found you in bed with an American Staff Sergeant is a _dismissible offense_ – but anyway, he found me... let's say not quite at my best... and _hired _me as what was at the time a personal body guard, although that position rapidly evolved into something far more extensive: classier than a hit man, not quite an assassin. All that really matters, I suppose, is that I killed people for him. People he didn't like, people that got in the way, people that threatened him... I killed them all, if he told me to. Over the years, as his plans unfolded and he slowly crept closer and closer to total dominion over this country and beyond, I was the only one he had complete faith in: his second in command. The Right Hand of the Devil, some have said.

And let me tell you, they have been the best years of my life. And it wasn't just the lifestyle, I assure you. I enjoyed it from the very beginning, being my Master's attack dog, among _other_ things. Out of the direct limelight, leaving that for the Boss, while making sure our schemes were truly successful. Well, I say 'our'. They were his, mostly. I suggested a few details here and there, but I don't think I really have the sheer hubris to be able to come up with some of the things he did. Blackmail, deceit and leverage were all main weapons in his arsenal, whereas mine were more limited to a rifle, a revolver and my fists, all equally effective in their own ways, although I doubt I would have been able to threaten Russia with its own nuclear weaponry with just a gun at my disposal. No, the Boss was a master at that kind of thing, and it wasn't long before he started gaining a following. Small at first, but gradually it spread out, slowly gaining power and influence over some of the most powerful people in the country, the grip slowly tightening until he had complete control...

His reign was ruthless; all who opposed him were quickly dealt with, either by me or his extensive network of _other _trained killers. If you wanted to survive, you would _kneel_ in his presence. A word said against him would be a death sentence.

That _was _enjoyable...

Of course, you're now probably wondering why I killed him.

And no, don't jump to conclusions about _jealously _or some sort of twisted revenge for having not given me 'more power' or not acknowledging me enough. I had... certain privileges, being in my position, and that was acknowledgement enough – trust me. And life on the sidelines of such things as my Master controlled had more than its fair share of benefits. Let me make clear, now_. I in no way wish to take on his mantle. _That kind of power, and what was _done _with it – let me be frank – scares the shit of me. I don't want any more to do with it. The only reason I held where I was for so long without bolting was the Boss, but as he gained more and more power, his plans grew bigger, more dangerous and more _insane_.

He wasn't exactly the most rational man in the beginning, I hasten to add, but there is no denying that with each passing day his _condition_, if you will, worsened to such an extent...The things he would dream up, by God, they sickened me; and I am a hard man to pale. Once, he suggested – casually, over a drink – that we could see how many Nuclear war heads it would take to leave Poland completely obliterated. I didn't think that he was being serious, until he asked me if I could get hold of the supplier by the end of the week... Now, a little murder here and there really doesn't bother me, it being a hobby of mine and all, but the _massacre_ of an entire country? Forty _million _people dead on a whim? That is a different matter _entirely. _

It was then that I made up my mind, I suppose, that if he ever actually attempted something like that, and if I couldn't convince him to stop, I would have to take steps in insuring that he never actually succeed.

Now, over the past year, it had become increasingly evident that my Master really could not care less about the money and the power we had built up so nicely. His plans were off the wall, in many cases undermining himself to get whatever it was done; he treated everything like it was some kind of game, the more collateral damage you can cause, the more points you get. He just wanted to sit back and watch the world burn.

And I stuck by him for most of this, revelling in it almost as much as he did, in places. But then he went too far, and the world turned to shit around us. That's when the rebellions started, large scale and devastating; destroying and corrupting our forces across the nation. Heh... Karma's a bitch, I suppose. So, for the Boss, there was only one plausible solution; destroy the rebels by destroying their source: London.

And, of course, for more reasons than one, I couldn't let that happen.

So that's when I found myself, that fateful night, standing shadowed in the doorway to the long, marble floored conference room, empty but for my Master, staring out of the one expansive windowed wall at the city below, his back to me. I steeled myself, suppressing the rush of adrenaline pumping through my limbs as I raised my revolver, carefully taking aim, and shot him through the heart.

Now, my aim is _perfect_. I am likely the most precise gunman in Europe, at least.

But I missed. The bullet went to the right and pierced his _lung_. My hand shook and I stayed rooted to the spot, watching as he raised a hand to the wound to probe it. He didn't cry out, and he turned himself in an almost graceful pirouette as his knees buckled and he sank to the floor. With his free hand, he started _tapping_ incessantly on the marble beneath him – a four-beat rhythm that I can only assume was mimicking his heart. He slumped forward, only then letting a cry escape his lips as his lungs heaved, but it didn't last long: the sound transformed itself quickly into a throaty laugh, echoing around the room. I froze, the hairs on the back of my neck bristling with the sound.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he rolled his head back and looked up into my face, his mouth stretched to a grin. My breathing quickened and I fought to keep my arm from shaking, fear spreading from my gut, but my expression remained hard and my eyes cold. I had just _shot _him, how could be smiling like a lunatic? Another fit of coughs raked his body, dissipating out into more twisted laughs. He laughed through the pain, that was evident, and his head sank back down as he tried to breath. I could have sent another shot into his chest, or into his brain, but I didn't; I couldn't move. The fear had my muscles in its iron grip; I couldn't do _anything_.

A new spasm of laughs followed a raking cough, and I could see a mouthful of blood dribbling down my Master's chin and onto the floor, pooling with that which had already run from his chest. He chuckled again, re-raising his head to once again meet my gaze.

"You're insane," I stated; the fear had not stopped my tongue, but my voice was shaken.

"You're just getting that now?" The voice was broken, but his eyes were wide and his lips pulled back over his teeth in a manic grin. I re-set my jaw and tightened my grip on my gun, my palms sweating. Killing is easy, exhilarating but easy. I have felt guilt and remorse as I have killed, though long, long ago, but never before had I felt this deep set dread, and I hope to God I will never feel it again. He held the grin, meeting my eyes – the tapping beat he laid out on the floor the only sound penetrating the deadened silence between us. Another fit of laughing, quickly followed by deep, wrenching coughs slowly faded into silence once again, the grin still plastered on his face, his breath coming in rasping wheezes. His death would be slow, like this: slow and so very painful. As much as I knew that he deserved it, I couldn't let him go like that. I had stood at his side for nearly seven years! I hadn't meant to torture him; I only meant to put him down _humanely. _

Slowly and purposefully, I strode across the room towards him, my heels clacking steadily, knowing that my eyes betrayed my fear, though my face was expressionless. Gun by my side, I stopped an inch or so in front of him, his blood pooling around my shoes. The Boss snorted and met my eyes again, and I could see the hunger set deep within his own, relishing my fear and wanting _more_. Another laugh sent blood spraying against my crotch, and I raised my revolver and pressed the muzzle against his forehead. That stopped him laughing, although the grin remained. My heart began to beat faster, and the rapping of my Master's nails sped up to meet it, almost. His breaths came faster, rasping and guttural, and he wet his lips.

"Do it." His once-smooth voice was sandpaper, but the tone remained light.

My hand shook slightly. He sniggered.

"reluc-" he coughed, spitting blood, "-tant?" he shifted his gaze upwards, past the gun to meet my eyes once more. I swallowed, visibly. How could I falter now? This went against everything I had been trained to do. Why couldn't I just pull the trigger?

With a movement faster than should have been possible, my Master raised a hand and clasped my own, slipping a finger over the trigger. "I'm _disappointed_, Sebastian" he rasped.

I recoiled, stung. And then it hit me: I couldn't kill him, after everything we had been through together. I _cared_ about him; the only person in the world I gave a flying fuck about. The relentless tapping grew faster.

"If you won't, I will~" he chuckled. My heart sank, but before I could blink, he squeezed the trigger. He fell back with the shot, hitting the marble with a wet thud; a manic grin still plastered on his face.

I let the gun drop slowly to my side, turning. Taking a cigarette from my pocket, I strode back across the room, leaving the body of my Master prone – the only sound the steady, four-beat rhythm I tapped lightly against my leg.

And, of course, you know the rest.

So, what are you going to do? Torture me? Lock me up? _Institutionalise _me? Go on, I dare you. I'd like to see you try~


End file.
